Stella’ POV
*Damn the Winston family.* The thought echoed in my mind as I angrily made my way through the bustling streets of Manhattan, the cold night wind stinging my cheeks. Their performance - the birthday cake, the candles, the fake warmth - clung to me like the smell of smoke, refusing to dissipate.
I should have known better. They never truly saw me as family, just a tool to be used when convenient, a convenient relationship. Fifteen years under their roof had already taught me this lesson, but a foolish, naive part of me still longed for genuine affection.
My feet carried me aimlessly through the city. I didn't want to return to Lancaster Manor immediately - not yet. Adam would see right through me with just one look. He would demand an explanation, and I wasn't ready to admit that I had once again been fooled by my own family.
When I finally stopped in my tracks, I realized I had unconsciously arrived at Rouge. *Of course.* My secret sanctuary lay before me, its discreet entrance nestled between two upscale boutiques, its understated red sign softly glowing in the twilight.
I hesitated at the door. Drowning my sorrows in expensive champagne was not a healthy coping mechanism, but right now, I needed the anonymity Rouge provided.
As I reached for the door, I realized I hadn't seen Samantha in weeks. Not since Victor's "brain injury" incident. How was she managing that strange new roommate situation?
I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. Samantha answered after the fifth ring, her voice flat and devoid of life.
"Hey."
"Sam? You sound terrible," I said, surprised by her deadpan tone. The Samantha I knew never sounded so defeated.
"Thanks for the compliment," she replied dryly. "What's up?"
"I'm at Rouge," I told her. "Care to join me for a drink? I could use some company tonight."
A long pause. "Actually... sure. I could use a drink too."
Something in her voice hinted at troubles far beyond just a bad day. "Sam, is everything okay?"
"How do you define 'okay'?" she let out a humorless laugh. "Be here in twenty. Can we have our usual room?"
"It's already arranged," I confirmed, ending the call as I pushed open the door.
The club manager recognized me as soon as I entered, his professional facade slipping away to reveal genuine surprise.
"Ms. Winston, welcome! We didn't expect you tonight."
"Spur of the moment decision," I explained, handing him my coat. "Is my usual room available?"
"Always reserved for you," he assured, snapping his fingers at a nearby hostess. "Prepare the Ruby Room immediately. Ms. Winston and a guest will be joining us tonight."
As I followed the hostess upstairs, I wondered what could have Samantha sounding so... shattered. In all the years I had known her, through all the disasters we had weathered together, I had never heard that particular tone in her voice.
An hour later, as I savored my second glass of champagne, the door to our private room swung open. Samantha stood in the doorway, and when I saw the person beside her, I nearly dropped my glass.
Victor stood tall behind her, looking nothing like the bandaged, supposedly brain-injured man I had last seen in the hospital.
He was tall - taller than I remembered - his broad shoulders perfectly framed by a dark tailored suit. His face, now free of bandages, revealed aristocratic features: high cheekbones, a strong jawline.
But it was his eyes that truly captivated me - deep, intelligent, cold as the depths of the ocean.
The stark contrast between his intimidating presence and his behavior was shocking. Despite his intimidating height and obvious physical advantage, he clung to Samantha almost like a child afraid of getting lost in a mall with his mother.
"Sorry we're late," Sam said, her expression a complex mix of surrender and embarrassment. "Someone insisted on changing suits three damn times."
Victor didn't respond to her sarcasm, merely shadowing her as she entered the room. As they sat across from me, I noticed how he positioned himself to maintain continuous contact with her - his knee brushing hers, his arm grazing her shoulder.
"Stella," Sam gestured between us, "this is Victor. Victor, this is my best friend, Stella Winston."
Victor nodded slightly, but did not extend his hand. His gaze never left my face, assessing me with an uncomfortable intensity.
I leaned closer to Sam, lowering my voice. "So... is his brain okay now?"
Sam's expression grew even more resigned, if possible. "What do you think?"
Before I could respond, Victor's deep voice cut through the air, startling both of us. "I can hear you talking."
Sam let out a heavy sigh. "Victor has exceptional hearing," she explained to me, then turned to him. "Stella is my friend. She helped save your life, remember?"
Victor's gaze remained unwavering. "I don't know her."
"Well, she knows you," Sam retorted. "And she's important to me. So please, be nice."
There was a subtle shift in Victor's expression - a softness around his eyes, almost imperceptible. "For you, then," he conceded, his hand moving to capture hers on the table.
Sam didn't pull away, though I could see the effort it took for her not to react. Whatever had transpired between them, it clearly weighed heavily on her.
As our drinks arrived, Sam reached for her whiskey with visible relief. But before her fingers could grasp the glass, Victor smoothly intercepted, moving the drink out of her reach.
"Alcohol isn't good for you," he said softly but firmly.
Sam closed her eyes, perhaps mentally counting to ten. "Victor, we've discussed this already."
"You should drink milk," he suggested, completely serious. "It's better for your health."
"I'm not drinking milk at a nightclub," Sam gritted her teeth.
After a brief standoff, she relented, opting for mineral water, while Victor looked pleased with himself, as if he had won some important negotiation.
"So," I cautiously began, "Sam, how have you been lately? We haven't talked in weeks."
She took a long sip of water before replying. "Well, let me think. Victor was discharged from the hospital two weeks ago. The doctors said his brain is completely normal - no bleeding, no swelling, all scans clear." She gestured frustratedly towards him. "However..."
Victor seemed unconcerned with her words. If anything, he looked proud, like a cat knocking over a valuable vase and feeling no remorse.
"He doesn't quite remember the attack," Sam continued, "but he remembers me. In fact, that's putting it lightly. He refuses to let me out of his sight. He follows me everywhere."
"Everywhere?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Quite literally everywhere," Sam confirmed, her expression shadowed. "I had to install a privacy screen in the bathroom."
Victor tilted his head, evidently not understanding the issue. "You saved my life. I need to protect you."
"Protect me from what, specifically?" Sam challenged. "The shower? My coffee maker? The evil dust bunnies under my bed?"
"The Moore family has enemies," he replied simply, as if that explained everything. "You are now associated with me. That makes you a target."
Something in his tone made me believe him. Despite his odd behavior, when it came to matters of safety, his mind was clear.
"Oddly enough," Sam lowered her voice, though Victor could clearly still hear her, "when it comes to his business, he's completely normal. He handles calls from executives, makes decisions for the company, strategizes against family rivals - everything is very rational."
"But he just won't leave your side," I finished for her.
"Not for a second," she confirmed. "The doctors think it might be a trauma response - a fixation on the person who helped him. They believe it will fade with time, but..." Her voice trailed off, uncertainty clouding her expression.
"When?" she asked, seemingly not directed at anyone in particular.
Victor's grip on her hand tightened. "I'm protecting you," he repeated, this time softer, almost fragile.
The genuine emotion in his voice caught me off guard. Whatever was happening in his mind, his attachment to Sam seemed deeper than mere gratitude.
Suddenly, Victor straightened, his entire demeanor shifting, his eyes focused on something behind me.
"Your man is here," he announced abruptly.
I blinked in confusion. "What?"